


The Savitar Chronicles: The Book of Flash

by noxcaelum



Series: The Savitar Chronicles [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, Drama, Epic, Epic fic, Fixing what the writers broke, Gen, Gen Work, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Post-Canon Fix-It, Speed Force, Time Travel, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxcaelum/pseuds/noxcaelum
Summary: Time is an imaginary human construct. It exists only in change. Here, the change that spins the axis of this world. Iris West is dead, but may yet live.~~**COMPLETE**~~





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I must apologize for the long wait. I know it's much longer than I originally said it would be, and I am sorry. Depression sucks. I wish I didn't have it, but I do. I should have known better than to try and give myself a deadline. 
> 
> Because of the long wait and the difficulty in updating everyone, I decided to revive my blog: https://noxcaelum.dreamwidth.org/ I'll try to keep it updated with my progress. I might also talk a little bit about my life. 
> 
> You can also find me on both Twitter and Instagram as noxcaelumscribe. 
> 
> I want to interact more with you and let you know when progress is going well and when it may have stalled
> 
> Beta props go to: Purpleyin, who is awesome and doesn't let me get away with anything. There are times I despair of some of their comments, only to come back later and realize they were 100% correct the entire time and I should listen. You are getting a much better quality fic because of them.
> 
> Lots of scenes have some dialogue directly from the episodes. I'm acknowledging that, and that I didn't write those lines and don't own them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is an imaginary human construct. It exists only in change. Here, the change on which the axis of this world spins. Iris West is dead, but may yet live. 
> 
> ~~**Updates every Tuesday.**~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I want to apologize for the long wait between books. I hadn't intended on it, but I should have known better than to set a deadline. Depression sucks. I wish I didn't have it, but I do. 
> 
> Because of the difficulty in effectively updating my readers on my progress, I decided to revamp my blog: https://noxcaelum.dreamwidth.org/ My goal is to use this as a place to write about my progress on TSC; I might also talk about my life a bit, who knows?
> 
> You can also find me on both the Twitters and Instagrams as noxcaelumscribe.
> 
> I want to interact with all of you more.
> 
> Beta props go to: Purpleyin, who is awesome and doesn't let me get away with anything. There are times their comments make me sputter and flail, but I always come back later and realize they were 100% right and I should always listen. You are getting a much higher quality fic because of them.

**The Savitar Chronicles: The Book of Flash**

**Chapter 1:Verse 1**  
_Central City, 2017  
Flashpoint_

Eobard has to admit that he’s absolutely _fascinated_ by his current circumstances. He should be angry. He should be seething with rage and hatred that his plans were so thoroughly foiled before he ever had the chance to enact them. Oh, sure, there’s a part of him that feels this way, but for the moment it is subsumed beneath a near overwhelming sense of the depth and breadth of time.

Somewhere, in some timeline, he succeeds. Or at least, succeeds enough. Somewhere, he killed Nora Allen and sent her son down a different path. One that has led them both here. If he had not succeeded, there would be no reason for the young Mr. Allen to run back in time to stop him. Or to keep him here, in this… prison. If he had not succeeded, there would not be such a fierce rage burning in Allen’s eyes. That fury fascinates him as well, to see that the Flash himself is, indeed, so capable of hate. Others thought it not possible, but now Eobard knows it is not only possible, it’s quite easy to engender. One only has to travel across time and space to kill his mother.

No, Eobard has no time to be angry or hateful when he can’t help but imagine that other world, the world of his triumph, existing out there in the unending vastness of time and space.

Besides, it’s been months. He’s run out of anger and hate for his current situation.

Every time Allen comes to feed him, though, oh those are his favorite times. The times when he can look into the eyes of the man another self helped create. There is an odd sort of pride in knowing that there is a world in which he was integral in the creation of the man who became the Flash. Why, he imagines this is what a father must feel like. It is a form of pride, isn’t it? They say pride goeth before a fall. Eobard looks around at the glass and bars that comprise his prison and laughs at his own joke.

“What’s so funny, Thawne?”

Ah, there he is, the Flash himself. Just look at him, the hatred and anger warring inside him with the nobility given by his circumstances. This is a Barry Allen who grew up without a mother, despite the fact that she now lives. From what little Eobard has been able to glean these past months, it was the death of his father than sent him running down this road.

“Oh, nothing,” he says. He’s not about to start sharing his own private jokes with Allen now. “Just me. You.” He half-heartedly wags his fingers. “This place. The joke is the universe, Allen.”

“You’re going to spend the rest of your life in there,” Allen says as he tosses the Big Belly Burger bag through the bars. “That’s no joke.”

Eobard smiles. “Somehow, I think not. Keep telling yourself that, though. Maybe you’ll believe it eventually.” He rises to his feet, ignoring the bag for now in favor of Allen’s young, innocent, hate-filled face. “Do _you_ really intend to spend your life this way? Bringing me three meals a day, every day, for the rest of _your_ life? Checking to make sure I haven’t found a way to escape? Living the rest of this charmed life always looking over your shoulder?”

The smile Allen gives him in return is grim. “Nah. One day I just might forget you’re even here. Then you’ll starve. Much faster than anyone else. That’s the thing about our heightened metabolism, Thawne. Skipping even one meal can wreak havoc on our bodies.”

“You don’t have it in you. You’re not a cold-blooded murderer.”

“No. I’m not. Because I’m not like you.”

Yet.

_Yet._

Eobard looks in his eyes, sees the hatred that lives there, the burning fire of rage and trauma. It occurs to him suddenly that Barry Allen _could_ be a cold-blooded murderer. Under the right—or wrong—circumstances. Kill enough of his loved ones, steal enough of his support system, destroy just enough of his hope… yes. Yes, Allen could very well become that he currently hates and fears.

Watching as Allen leaves, Eobard realizes his very life depends on that _not_ happening. And he laughs. He laughs and laughs.

Eobard can never resist the absurd humor inherent in irony.

* * *

 

**Chapter 1:Verse 2**  
_Central City, 2017  
Flashpoint_

_Who is this guy?_ Iris thinks to herself.

The gangly young man standing before her is absolutely adorable, which isn’t usually her type. She’s more of a ruggedly handsome men kind of girl; this guy looks like he’s barely out of high school, practically a baby. He’s probably never seen the inside of a gym and is definitely more likely to have attended one of those geek conventions where nerds fight over comics, weird TV shows, and who shot first in old sci fi movies. But there something about his self-deprecating grin and the way he rubs the back of his neck that’s just plain charming.

As he stumbles over himself to ask her in rapid fire words if she’d like to get a coffee—not right now, but at a different time, or maybe an iced tea because he definitely does _not_ want to get her drunk—she finds herself saying yes.

“Barry Allen, you are very cute, you know that?” She means it, too. “Yeah, but, um, you should try talking just a little bit slower.”

He smiles. Her heart races for reasons she can’t fathom. She _just_ met him, and sharing a class in elementary school doesn’t count. None of the men she’s dated ever made her feel the way this guy has made her feel in the past five minutes. What is it? Is the the smile, or the sincerity that roils off him in waves, or is it the look in his eyes that says he’s seen some rough times and they’ve made him a man who would never, ever intentionally hurt her?

Maybe a bit of all of it.

Her thoughts have passed in a split second.

“Speed…” he says, “has always been my problem.”

* * *

 

**Chapter 1:Verse 3**  
_Central City, 2017  
Flashpoint_

If asked, Joe will not say he’s concerned with control. His friends probably call him laid back, and scoff at anyone who might hint that he has control issues. His kids, on the other hand, might tell a different story. The story of a man who, when he no longer can control his children, turned to drinking instead. A man who is on the fast track toward losing his job and destroying his entire life. All because his children are adults who live their own lives and won’t listen to him anymore.

The truth lives somewhere in between. Yes, he is concerned about Wally and Iris, especially Wally. Doesn’t he have good reason? His children are out there fighting crime through vigilantism. Wally has incredible powers and no one to teach him how to use them.

Joe isn’t entirely certain those powers aren’t dangerous somehow. There have been no tests.

To him, his worry is completely justified. Being fast doesn’t make Wally invulnerable, and Iris has nothing but her wits. She’s intelligent, he has no doubts about that, but intelligence is no match for malice and chance. One day, Wally and Iris will roll the dice and lose, super speed and intelligence be damned. And neither of them will accept this, or his help.

Is it any wonder he drinks?

There’s so much about his world that’s beyond his ability to comprehend, what with accidents capable of creating meta-humans and his son being one of them; when CSI Allen starts covering and lying for him, at first it’s just one more needle on top of a mountain of strange needles. Eventually, though, Joe starts wondering why this kid he barely knows is so interested in him. Why should Allen care whether or not he keeps his job?

It’s too much when Iris shows up, all smiles for the meddling kid and none for her father. _Honestly, I wasn’t even sure you still worked here._ Her words hurt. Everything hurts these days. Especially the fact that she won’t even listen to him. She’s an adult, true, and can do what she wants and date whom she wants, but he’s her father and she should at least _listen_ to him when he expresses concern. Shouldn’t she? He was her father and even if he didn’t have a right to tell her who to date and where to go, he did have a right to an opinion on the matter, didn’t he?

Didn’t he?

These are the thoughts he’s buried in when the news filters in to his consciousness that the Flash—Wally, _his son_ —is fighting the Rival again. His stomach feels ready to eject all the alcohol in it and what little food he’s ingested. He can’t actually remember the last time he ate.

Joe stands, gathers his coat, his gun, and his badge. Wally can hate him all he wants, but Joe is going to help his son. To hell with the consequences. To hell with Wally’s powers and Iris’ pride.

Joe is not going to stand back anymore while his children fight evil. He’s going to help them whether they like it or not.

* * *

 

**Chapter 1:Verse 4**  
_Central City, 2017  
Flashpoint_

Nora Allen knows her son, and by knowing him she knows something isn’t quite right. She wants it to be right, this life of hers that is as perfect as she always dreamed. How could anyone ever want more than what she has? A loving husband, a wonderful and accomplished son—all right, a son who really needs to move out and start his own life—the perfect job. There is absolutely nothing to complain about.

Yet, it seems… wrong. Like she looks on the world through a fog, or the hazy outline of memory. Her entire life has the feel of a childhood Sunday afternoon, sunny and bright and not quite as real as it once had been.

Something _isn’t right_.

When Barry refuses to move out and find his own place, there is a shadow moving in the back of his eyes to tell her his reasons are deeper than he says. His eyes say he has seen more death than he can take, so much that any more might break him. To her knowledge, he has never dealt with more death than any other person of his age. Three of his grandparents, some pets. All emotional, all of them grieved for in the appropriate manner and for the appropriate time.

Do her son’s eyes lie? No. To Nora, the more plausible explanation is that the entire world is lying. Or is a lie.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hears again the words she overheard that night: _You’re not going to kill her this time. You’re not going to kill her ever again._

She watches as he goes about his days as though in a cloud of joy and wonders why her own happiness is diminished. This isn’t the way it should be, even if she knows it isn’t malicious; she isn’t sad because he’s happy, she’s sad because she senses his happiness is weighted by sorrow beneath and she doesn’t know what it could be. He is supposed to be able to talk to her about anything, share anything with her, but he no longer does and there is a shadow that stalks behind where ever he goes. Her beautiful boy was never meant to hold such pain inside. Where would he even come to know pain that large, that encompassing?

There are days she is able to believe it’s all in her mind, that she’s being a paranoid old biddy and should leave Barry alone. There are other days when she can’t breathe with the weight of knowing something has happened to her son that he won’t tell her.

Therefore it isn’t much of a surprise the day he brings the girl home, only to talk to her and Henry as though he were never going to see them again. She knows, she has known for months this day would come. It is the inevitable conclusion to all of her vague intuitions. Still, he won’t speak the truth to them. Whatever that stone is hanging around his neck, he is determined never to share it with anyone. Because that’s her son, that’s her Barry, always carrying burdens alone.

Will she never be able to convince him it is a mother’s job to help carry her children’s burdens?

* * *

 

**Chapter 1:Verse 5**  
_Central City, 2017  
Flashpoint_

“You know what I need you to do.”

“Yeah. But I want to hear you say it.”

Iris stands back, watching the two men, her breath caught in her throat. Barry told her a little, but not much. She knows the answer only in the vaguest of terms because talking about it upset Barry past the point of actually being able to speak. It’s now, in this moment, with Barry’s next words that all of this will become real.

“I need you to kill my mother.”

Iris’ heart drops.

“With pleasure.”

“I hate you.” There is no need for Barry to say the words. His hatred is written on his face in a language that doesn’t need translation. How could he not hate this man? Iris knows she should feel, at least somewhat, for this man in the glass and iron cage, that she should wonder about Barry, who could keep a prisoner like this. But knowing what she knows, she can’t find it in her to blame him for what he’s done. If it had been her mother, she can’t say she would do differently. That Barry didn’t kill his mother’s murderer outright speaks, she thinks, to the strength of his character.

Even the direst circumstances could not turn Barry Allen into a killer.

She loves him. There’s no reason for it. She doesn’t know him, yet she feels like she does. A part of her remembers the place he talks about, the place where his mother’s death lead the two of them to grow up together and develop a relationship that goes beyond words and apparently beyond space and time as well.

Iris West knows that in whatever world Barry is going to, she will love him there, too, and they will be together. Stupid in love, just the way he wants. Still, she cries for the woman who is about to die so the world can be right again.

Iris wonders if she will cease to exist, or if this world, now that it’s created, will simply continue on its own trajectory while another Iris and another Barry ran toward their happily ever after? Barry seemed to think this timeline would stop, but he had not known the consequences of creating it in the first place. He didn’t know everything. Is is possible he was wrong?

Shouldn’t she have ceased to exist the moment Barry and his enemy left this timeline?

* * *

 

**Chapter 1:Verse 6**  
_Central City, 2017  
Post-Flashpoint_

Eobard can still feel the knife slide into Nora Allen’s flesh as he stands in the street. All the Barrys are gone now, the little one, the future one, the one who stopped him before, and the one who brought him back to finish the job. He dropped the last off at home to enjoy the bitter fruit of his labors.

He is alone.

Then, white lightning spears past him on the road, blinding him. Eobard turns, feeling in his stomach the sinking and rising of fear and excitement. Who is this, _what_ is this?

In the center of the street stands a creature seemingly made of spiked metal with glowing blue eyes. It takes only a moment for Eobard to realize it isn’t a creature, but a suit of armor. To carry a speedster that fast, it must be made of a compound stronger than any known metal.

“Strange metal,” he says. “Impressive. Tell me, who are you?”

The armored person takes a step closer to Eobard, then another. For a moment, just one, the fear rises to overcome his natural curiosity, and Eobard almost retreats from the advancing figure. Almost. Truly, the armor _is_ impressive, even intimidating. But Eobard is intimidated by nothing short of time and speed themselves. Instead, he advances and meets the figure head on.

“I am Savitar,” the armored man says, voice filtered and distorted through the interface. Eobard is instantly curious about how the armor is programmed and functions.

“Savitar?” He frowns. “Never heard of you.”

Savitar chuckles. If he didn’t know better, Eobard might swear the play of shadows and light on the armor reflects Savitar’s amusement. “You will. You will know me very well, Eobard Thawne, descendent of Eddie Thawne. You who call yourself Reverse Flash, the ultimate enemy of Barry Allen, the Flash of Central City. You who no longer exist.”

All right. This Savitar knows far too much to be safe. Yet… “What do you mean, I no longer exist?”

“You are a man outside time, Eobard. You almost succeed, but fail at the last moment when your ancestor kills himself to prevent your birth. You _never_ existed.”

For the first time, the fear begins to turn into sour terror. There is only one thing a speedster fears above all other things. The time wraiths and their king, the Black Flash. Eobard looks over his shoulder before thinking, before he can stop himself.

“Yes, he is coming for you.” Now there is a definite tinge of amusement to the voice echoing from the armor. Eobard hears it quite plainly. Whoever this Savitar is, he is laughing at Eobard. “There is a way for you to avoid that fate.”

“And what might that be?”

“The Spear of Destiny.” Savitar raises his hand, and from his palm rises a holographic representation of the spear in question. “The Spear that pierced the side of Christ, with the power to rewrite destiny itself. You could rewrite your destiny. Rewrite the world.”

As a scientist, Eobard once believed science was the only true power in the world, the only set of rules governing the universe. Since becoming a speedster, however, he has seen too much that science simply cannot explain to dismiss the idea of the Spear of Destiny out of hand. Eobard thinks of the potential held in such an otherwise innocuous collection of wood and metal. Yes. Yes, this would work very nicely. If the offer were genuine.

“What’s in it for you, hmm? Why give me this information?”

Savitar closes his hand. “Let’s just say that while this is your only option, it is my plan C. You find the Spear of Destiny, and when I succeed at my original plan you use it to do whatever you like; if I need the Spear, we work out a world that is, shall we say, mutually beneficial.”

If malice had a physical presence to be seen, Eobard knows he would see it like a cloud roiling out from Savitar, infecting the very air. There is no doubt in his mind that as much as Savitar is offering to work together, the man underneath the armor is amused by his suffering because truly, Savitar hates him and would just as happily see him vanish from time and space.

“How do you know I won’t nab the Spear and do what I want without you?”

“Because you won’t have time.”

Eobard hears the dreaded sound of an opening vortex behind him and is in motion even before he hears Savitar’s next words.

“Run, Eobard. Run.”


	2. Chapter Two

**The Savitar Chronicles: The Book of Flash**

**Chapter Two**

 

**Chapter 2:Verse 1**   
_Central City, 2000  
Timeline Nexus_

Nora Eileen Thompson Allen dies in this moment over and over again. Her death becomes a fixed point with every repetition. Every time she dies instead of lives her death is imprinted even deeper into the fabric of reality. Deaths outweigh those times she is saved, even though there are more versions of her son existing in this house at this time than ever again in the future. Once, she was comforted by him as she died, but that moment was overwritten by a later failed attempt at salvation.

The room vibrates with time energy and the presence of the Speed Force. Perhaps this is why a portion of Nora—a buried portion, concealed beneath the pain and recognition of the encroaching dark—is aware of the shadows of previous deaths that lay over her like a sheet. Perhaps it’s why she is vaguely aware of an entire life beyond this, where she saw her son as he grew up, where she and her husband lived the perfect life, filled with love and pride for their beautiful boy. The part of her that can see this alternate life wishes for it with the same burning intensity with which she was killed. She doesn’t understand why the man who killed her would want to hurt her.

In the back of her mind, she hears the words: _You’re not going to kill her this time. You’re not going to kill her ever again._

It hurts, but the pain is fading. Somewhere, her son lives and that is all that matters. She remembers telling Barry to run, then he was gone. So he has to be alive. As long as Barry is alive, she can die in peace.

She cannot know, of course, that this moment is the pivot on which her son’s life will forever spin. He will never be able to move forward or heal; he will live his life standing in the doorway watching the lightning storm, kneeling next to her body and trying to find some trace of his mother in her blank features. His pain holds her suspended in time at the moment of her death.

Nora is paused in this moment, forever dying, forever on the verge of the great abyss but never quite falling. Before this, she was a proud mother, after this she will be a treasured memory. For her, the after never comes.

For her, there is only ever the darkness, the pain, and the knife.

* * *

 

**Chapter 2:Verse 2**   
_Star City, 2016  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Barry ran to Star City in a panic. God, what else had changed? How could his time-traveling result in Dante’s death? In Joe and Iris not speaking? How on Earth had time travel created Julian Albert out of thin air? He feared learning what else his screwing around had done, but knew he had to take responsibility for all of it.

The best person to talk to would be Felicity. Oliver would look at him blankly and try to give him some sage advice, but most of the time Oliver was best with arrows and his fists. Dig would look at him blankly and tell him not to make his life any weirder than it already was, and Laurel… Laurel was gone. Felicity was genius enough to catch on even regarding something outside her usual wheelhouse, and would be her wonderful, supportive self. He really needed someone understanding and supportive.

He went to the place he thought she was most likely to be, the Arrowcave, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere. He looked everywhere Felicity was likely to be, and a few places she wasn’t—no Felicity.

_Oh God_ , he thought, _I’ve erased Felicity._

Finally, he found Oliver. Barry wished he’d brought his suit, but it didn’t really matter. He moved too fast for the perp to see him before being knocked out cold.

“Bar—” Oliver gave Barry the tight-lipped expression that meant he was annoyed Barry had stepped into a situation Oliver was sure he had under control. Oliver took a deep breath and looked down, eyes closed for a moment before lifting his face to peer at Barry. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Felicity. I can’t find her anywhere.”

“She’s not here. She went on a trip to see her mother.”

“A… trip?” At least he hadn’t erased her from existence. Still, something didn’t seem right. Felicity was unlikely to leave Oliver right now, so soon after Laurel’s death and Dig’s abandonment.

“She just left?” Barry gestured widely to the world. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” Oliver sighed. The expression on his face was familiar, the look he had when he didn’t quite know what to say and didn’t understand the importance of the question anyway. “She had it planned for months. I told her to go.”

Okay, well, that was something Oliver would do, tell her to leave when he needed her the most. Barry sighed and rubbed the back of his head. It still left _him_ high and dry, and felt wrong in a way he couldn’t easily identify other than to think that no matter how much Oliver insisted he’d told her to go, there was no way Felicity would actually leave him right now. But if time travel could create a whole person, why couldn’t it move one around if circumstances shifted enough?

Oliver stared at him in that unnervingly straightforward way he had. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck being the good friend and attending John Jr.’s birthday party alone.”

_John Jr.? Oh no…._

“Is there anything I can help you with, Barry?” The words came out awkward and slightly annoyed. Oliver meant well, usually, but even when he wanted to be kind, it usually came out motivating instead. Or irritated. Now was one of the irritated times. At least he wasn’t likely to shoot Barry in the back again any time soon. Probably.

Barry shook his head. This wasn’t right, none of it was right, but now was not the time to tell Oliver just how not right everything had become. “No. I know what I need to do. Thanks.”

He ran off before Oliver could reply.

_I have to fix this_.

* * *

 

**Chapter 2:Verse 3**   
_Central City, 2016  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

He could learn to love the kid as a son—and maybe he was meant to—but _God,_ Barry could be dense as a pile of bricks sometimes. As the kid readied himself to mess with the timeline yet again, Jay sighed and yanked him right out of the Speed Force and into Earth-3. Time to have a little heart-to-heart with the son he never actually had.

Yeah, he saw it in the way Barry didn’t like to look him in the eyes or really in the face at all. Had to be hard for him, to see his father’s face attached to a man he barely knew. Jay felt for the kid, he really did. But grief was no excuse for being stupid. An explanation, but not an excuse.

_As though you were never stupid._

Okay, sure, he’d been stupid. Made the same mistakes. Said as much to Barry. That’s exactly why he was so determined not to let Barry screw up any more than he already had. He didn’t want Barry to go through what he’d gone through.

Every time Barry rolled his eyes, tried to talk over him, Jay just kept going. He had to make his point, had to make the kid see. If Barry kept going the way he was, he could very well end up with loved ones who didn’t recognize him, or were erased from the timeline altogether. Jay didn’t want that for Barry. Poor kid had lost enough in his short life already.

He saw the moment Barry understood. The spark of clarity, then the ensuing death of that spark as he truly realized what he had lost and could never get back. That he would have to tell the truth and let things be. The tears brightening his eyes almost made Jay cry, too, cry for yet another scrap of innocence lost. Flashes were supposed to be the purest of heroes, the ones who never killed, who always found another way. Just the same, the burden of this purity had its price. It was this way across the multiverse, and any Flash that ran off course found their final judgement in the embrace of the Speed Force.

While the Speed Force was many things, exceedingly forgiving was not one of them. So, painful as it was for the both of them, better to break Barry’s heart now than to have him veer off course later.

After they said their goodbyes, Jay followed Barry using a little trick the kid hadn’t figure out yet; he vibrated so fast, at a high enough frequency that he couldn’t be seen. Barry _could_ see him, if he vibrated at the same frequency, but this little trick was a bit beyond him for the moment.

Watching as Barry explained the truth to his friends, Jay’s heart reached out to him. Jay couldn’t remember ever seeing the kid so miserable. Especially when Cisco stormed out. For a moment, the elder Flash considered going to talk to Cisco himself, explain on Barry’s behalf and in no uncertain terms… but no. Barry needed to deal with this on his own, even—especially—the consequences. Hard as it was, Barry had to be an adult and take responsibility for his mistakes.

After eavesdropping on Barry’s conversation with Cisco, Jay was satisfied that, regardless of the pain, Barry would be fine. He made his exit from S.T.A.R. Labs and ran home. He believed, truly and deeply, that Barry would be all right.

* * *

 

**Chapter 2:Verse 4**   
_Central City, 2016  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

He dreamed in fevered images of speed and pride, of lightning and freedom. He dreamed of running forever and laughing all the while, of power flowing over his flesh and through his veins in endless abundance. In his dreams, he was the best and no man could be his rival.

Awake, however, Edward Clariss was a nobody. A shit nobody working a shit job not even worth thinking about.

He went to work. He went home. He lived a dreadful routine from day to day with no reprieve. Around him were the rank and file of the other mundanes who drudged from one place to the other, foot in front of foot, living day by day and paycheck to paycheck because they knew no other way and didn’t have the imagination or the drive to step out of their ruts. In their hearts they heard no voices telling them their lives could be different. Their souls were dull, lightless things, their bodies empty husks.

God, he hated them. He hated himself for being one of them.

Was he really one of them, though? After all, he had the dreams. After a while, there came a voice in the dreams, a voice that told him this was his truth, the life he was meant to lead, not the excess of grayness and drudgery. And though most of him didn’t believe it yet, it was still nice to think he might be destined for something better.

Then the voice began hunting him in his waking hours. Calling him The Rival, showing him visions of his true life, urging him to take that step out of his own rut and seize his future.

It asked him a question.

It told him a name.

_Come and find me_ , it said, _Alchemy. Find Alchemy._

_Dare to be transformed._

* * *

 

**Chapter 2:Verse 5**   
_Central City, 2016  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Julian looked up as Allen sauntered into their shared office as though he owned the place and didn’t have to be on time like everyone else. For one searing moment, his fury threatened to distract him from actually doing work, but he reined it in with a strength of will forged by his upbringing. He could only imagine what his mother would think of him now. Allen could not be allowed to have any power over him, especially the power that is given over in anger. That would be humiliating in too many ways to count. Instead, he contented himself with a snide comment.

“Forgotten the definition of work hours again, Allen?”

Allen stammered something about visiting a sick friend in the hospital overnight in Star City, a story that became less and less plausible with every syllable that tumbled from his inept mouth. Even Allen seemed to realize this, as he trailed off without finishing.

Julian snorted and returned to filling out his reports. It galled him to still have no explanation for the meta-infused husks found all over the city. Intellectually, he knew no one had ever seen anything like them and he couldn’t blame himself for having not yet solved their mystery. Even so, knowing something intellectually was very different than feeling it in the part of him that would always seek mummy’s approval and daddy’s pride. It was also very different than having results for a hard day’s work when Allen did next to nothing and practically fell into the solutions to all his cases. Honestly, how could Captain Singh ignore such a blatant dereliction of duty?

_“I know it’s annoying, Albert. Believe me, I know. But Allen always gets the job done. Don’t know how, but he does, and it’s better for my blood pressure if I tell myself that’s the only thing that really matters. And, well. It is.”_

Julian rather disagreed. He thought having some respect for the job, one’s co-workers, and one’s supervisor also mattered. He thought having a respect for the proper manner of things also mattered. If people went around doing as they wanted without regards for propriety, then all would be chaos and no one wanted that. Well, no decent person, at least.

Julian turned to the tiny fishbowl diorama he’d made of the crime scene, and had just plucked his tiny victim from the bowl when Allen walked over to his desk without a by-your-leave.

“Hey. Um. I need your help.”

“It’s the four words I seem to hear you most often say, Barry,” he replied. “That and, ‘I hate that guy’.” Only then did he look up. “Which, the feeling’s mutual, so….”

When Allen asked to pretend they were actually friends, Julian understood immediately that whatever it was Allen wanted was far more important to him than he would admit, and while it was tempting to refuse just for the satisfaction of seeing Allen miserable, he had to admit to curiosity. What was it Allen wanted so desperately?

Then, Allen slipped. Oh, he slipped so much further than he knew. Julian was proud of himself for his composure, how he hesitated only briefly before repeating the name Allen had dropped so casually. “Edward Clariss? Why?”

The answer Allen gave was a bullshit answer, of course. They were all bullshit answers. Another reason Julian couldn’t stand Allen was because the golden boy of the CCPD was a habitual liar. Julian could smell a lie; he didn’t know why Allen lied, what he was hiding, but he lied almost every single day about almost everything. Worse than that, everyone else either didn’t see how solidly disingenuous Allen was, or they covered for him. Detective West, for instance, who lied just as often but far more smoothly. Julian couldn’t stand disingenuous people, especially when they treated him as far less intelligent than he was in reality.

Allen rushed off after practically flinging the file back at him. Something about the origin of the husk had set the wheels turning, but of course Julian would not be privy to the information. He watched Allen speed off and thought that one day, and one day soon, he would catch Allen in a lie no one could refute.

That day, he would be victorious.

* * *

 

**Chapter 2:Verse 6**   
_Flashback: Central City, 2016  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

When the phone call comes, Cisco answers thinking _oh no, Mom’s calling to brag about Dante again._

Mom is not calling to brag about Dante. Mom is shrieking into the phone in panicked, incomprehensible Spanish. Cisco has to leave the cortex with the eyes of his friends following him, trying to calm her enough to understand what she’s saying. Dante’s name is definitely in there, but the more she screams the worse he feels. His stomach churns as he calls “¡Mamá! ¡Mamá! ¡Mamá, dime qué pasó!”

She finally dissolves into sobs, and Cisco can hear the sounds of the phone transferring hands. His cousin, Hector, comes on the line.

“Cisco, it’s about Dante. There was an accident.”

_There was an accident_.

These words change Cisco’s world. His world has always had a brother in it, and now there is no brother. The phone slides from his hand and crashes to the floor. Cisco follows not long after; he can hear someone calling his name, maybe Caitlin, maybe Barry, probably both and Joe as well. They’re by his side, someone’s hands are on his shoulders but he can’t make sense of anything going on outside his own mind. Dante is dead. There was an accident and his only brother Dante is dead.

Hands grip under his arms and lift him. He is taken to someone’s vehicle. Without remembering the process through which it happened, Cisco finds himself at home, sitting on his bed. He looks up to see Caitlin enter the room with a mug of his favorite hot drink. She talks quietly. After he dropped the phone, she took it up and Hector told her. Everyone knows.

“Take as much time as you need,” she murmurs. She doesn’t leave him, though, but sits next to him on the bed and that’s good because Cisco doesn’t want to talk but he doesn’t want to be alone, either. Caitlin is his best friend so she understands. He leans on her shoulder and begins to cry, to sob. He heaves so violently he feels like his bones might break inside the flimsy shell of his flesh. Inside him is a hole and surely if he keeps sobbing like this he will crack and shatter and begin to sink into that hollowness.

Caitlin lifts her arms and holds him in silence, letting him spill his sorrow as long as he needs.

He blinks and it is two weeks later. At Caitlin’s prodding, he is sitting in a small room in a community center, listening to others talk about their grief. He hasn’t spoken yet, because he still can’t seem to grasp hold of this reality and make it stick. He doesn’t want to… he doesn’t want this world without his brother, where they have no chance at learning to like each other.

A woman is speaking. “I just keep thinking if I could go back in time. Do it differently.”

“We all think that,” says the moderator gently. “It’s important to remember these kinds of feelings are normal. Everyone has them. Everyone wants a chance to go back in time. It’s equally as important to remember that as much as we would like to, we just can’t.”

_Except I know someone who can._

Cisco rises from his seat and leaves without saying a word to anyone. They barely even watch him go; people get up and leave unexpectedly often. Many of them do not come back.

“Barry, I need your help,” he says as he enters the cortex. “Come with me.”

“Uh, o-okay.” Barry follows. Cisco doesn’t take them far, just into the hallway far enough where they can’t be overheard. “What is it?”

“I need you to go back in time and save Dante.” Before Barry can finish that odd, flowing head shake of his, Cisco has grabbed his shoulders. “Listen, I will never ask you for anything ever again. But this, you have to do for me. You have to, man.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t tell me you can’t! I’ve seen you, you run really fast and the vortex opens and off you go. It’s _easy_ for you!”

“No, it’s not.” The pity in Barry’s eyes is torture. Cisco can’t stand it. “It’s not easy. And it’s not something I can do, for any reason. Changing the timeline like that… I can’t know what else I’ll affect.”

“Dante’s life, that’s what!”

“Don’t you think I’d save my mom if I could?” His voice is gentle, but that doesn’t matter to Cisco. “My dad? Of course I would, but I haven’t. Because I’m not willing to risk everything I know, all of my friends, my work as the Flash—”

“No, I get it. You want to keep being a superhero so you won’t save my brother.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t. Don’t talk to me right now. Not for a while. Maybe not ever.”

Cisco leaves Barry standing alone in the hallway. He does not return to the cortex either, going instead to his private lab where he works on his gadgets. Another time, another argument, he might have felt bad about the things he said to Barry. Not now. Not with his brother’s life on the line. Can’t Barry understand that he doesn’t _care_? The whole world can burn for all he cares, he just wants his brother back.

He just wants the chance to _be_ a brother.


	3. Chapter Three

**The Savitar Chronicles: The Book of Flash**

**Chapter Three**

**Chapter 3:Verse 1**   
_Flashback: Central City, 2021  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

For months, the military camps outside Central City and systematically removes any and all metas they come across. At first, it’s only metas who actively break the laws of the city, the robbers and the murderers, the schemers and the villains. Then, it’s metas caught jaywalking, metas who speed in their vehicles, metas with parking violations. Eventually, it’s the metas whose only crime is that of existing.

The Other One does nothing to help. Barry does what he can, but as it becomes more and more obvious that, for reasons unknown, the Flash is not on the military’s list of metas to be imprisoned, they stop trusting him. By saving him for last, Aarons has effectively framed him for collusion.

_I’m not working with the military_ , he tries to explain, over and over. Some of them believe him. He has managed to create a very small underground meta community for those who will go with him. It’s small, but thriving.

Not enough believe him though, and too many are caught by Aarons and his camouflaged bullies. As much as he wants to rescue them, Barry is unable to come anywhere near the soldiers. Whatever tech they had that blew him off course in their camp, it’s with them in the field. Any time he comes too close, he’s tossed back like a rag doll. He’s stopped trying. What’s the point? Better to get to them before Aarons does and hope like hell they listen; too often, they don’t. Too often they yell and scream, or are more afraid of him than they are of the possibility of being caught. Some of them don’t really believe the military is taking metas off the streets or from their homes.

And too many simply no longer trust that the Flash has their best interests at heart.

Barry tries A.R.G.U.S. Lyla is no help.

“I can’t, Barry,” she says with a sigh. He can see the circles under her eyes. He can see how the weight of what’s happening sits on her; but Lyla Michaels has long since given in to the hard reality of her position at A.R.G.U.S., and that it sometimes leads to things she’d rather not think about. “This isn’t my jurisdiction. Not anymore. A.R.G.U.S. isn’t allowed to interfere in Central City. Aarons made certain of that.”

“Do you really care about jurisdiction?”

She wants to say no. He can see it. She wants to throw everything out the window and help him. It isn’t enough. In the end, it just isn’t enough. Her eyes move to the picture of her husband and son on her desk, rest there for a beat, then she looks back to Barry.

“I care about my job. I care about my family. And yes, I care about what’s happening in Central City… but caring about Central City isn’t my job right now. My job is caring about my husband, my son, and whatever my supervisors in the government tell me to care about.” She hesitates, looking him in the eyes. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“Yes.” He does. He understands very well. Knowing doesn’t stop him from seething. She will not help him or the metas of Central City.

He’s on his own. As always.

* * *

 

**Chapter 3:Verse 2**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

They dealt with Clariss. They had to, and it could go no other way but in their favor. Some might say it was destiny. The Flash had no true rival. Barry, on the other hand, would smile and shake his head and claim it was hard work by the whole team that made it happen. Wally, in his secret heart, believed it to be a bit of both.

Maybe that was just the dreams talking, but he did believe Barry was destined to become the Flash. Sure, it galled him a little that Barry was a speedster, that Jesse had also gained speed from the second particle accelerator explosion, while Wally himself sat by powerless. Believing in destiny helped with the resentment a little, so he clung to the idea that some people were destined to be speedsters and some were just not—and the dreams gave him hope that perhaps he was one of them after all.

Two, sometimes three nights a week, Wally sped through Central City, feeling the lightning in his muscles and the speed in his bones. It was confusing, because sometimes they called him Flash, and sometimes Kid Flash, and he protested the second name but in the end the name didn’t matter. What mattered was the rush of wind and power, what mattered was when he yanked a kid out of the street to avoid tragedy, when he put out fires, when he helped people. What mattered was taking down the metahumans who didn’t care as much for the safety of non-metas as he did. He could do all of that under any name they gave him.

Awake, he wanted it so bad he could _taste_ the ozone in his mouth.

_Is this what Clariss felt before he regained_ his _powers_?

That was the only thought to give Wally pause. Even before his father reminded him about Magenta, he remembered. It was exciting, to know he was a speedster in some world and could be again, but he had to admit it was also frightening to know the road to his powers led to Doctor Alchemy.

It couldn’t be that bad, could it? At least, not for him. Clariss had been a villain, and Magenta’s past was probably pretty similar to her Flashpoint counterpart’s. Which meant that no matter the source of his powers, Wally would always be a hero. Right?

He made up his mind to find a way to seek Doctor Alchemy and gain his powers. When the opportunity to offer himself up as bait came, he leapt at it while trying to sound like he wasn’t. He wanted to stop Doctor Alchemy—yes, and he wanted to stop the emergence of new metas from Flashpoint, of course. He wanted to help make everything right… including his powers. He would help stop Doctor Alchemy after he had his speed back.

It was only fair, wasn’t it?

Yes. It was.

* * *

 

**Chapter 3:Verse 3**  
 _Nābhivarṣa (India)_ , _Near the Beginning of Recorded History_  
 _Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

The man who becomes the first Alchemy is named Devesh, “god of gods.” In order to avoid disrespect to his new god, he takes the name of Javana, meaning “young man,” for he is as a child to the great Savitar.

He does as he was bid: he protects the box and the glowing stone inside, he collects new followers to Savitar, and on nights when the heavens align he opens the box so that all may hear the words of their deity, Lord Savitar, God of Motion, of Speed, He Who Moves Through Time, Conqueror of Death. Savitar charges them to continue to grow, to spread his name and ensure his place in the pantheon with the other gods, and to protect the stone in the box against all who would come to claim it.

They come quickly; there are always those who fear what they do not understand, and there comes a man to the worship of Savitar who fears the god and fears the stone that summoned him. This man goes to his kin and tells them that Alchemy summons rakshasas who speak lies and tricks. The man and his family march on Javana’s home, for Javana has not yet donned a mask to hide his identity. They come, and they demand that he hand over the treasured stone or else be killed for aiding in the trickery of rakshasas, but Javana refuses. Behind him comes the whole of his followers, who do not outnumber the nonbelievers but take them by surprise and slaughter them to a man.

Truly, Savitar has given them his speed for the endeavor. He smiles on them and gives them the power they need to do his bidding and protect his stone.

After that, there are no more attacks on Javana’s home, and none who accuse him of wrongdoing to his face. There are always whispers, of course, murmured at night behind closed doors. There is always fear, but there will be no more who come to them with false faith. All who come now do so with open minds and hearts and hear the commands of Savitar with joy and fervor.

Javana takes a man named Dhruv to be his apprentice, and teaches him all the inner mysteries of serving Savitar. When death comes for Javana, he closes his eyes with a smile knowing that the worship of Lord Savitar will continue, thriving, after he is gone.

Dhruv gathers his followers and takes the word of Savitar to the rest of the country.

Others take it to the rest of the world.

* * *

 

**Chapter 3:Verse 4**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Joshua Moriello had been a student at Central City University, studying archaeology with a minor in mythology. He had a girlfriend, once. Had he graduated, he would have had an internship waiting for him with the National City Museum, courtesy of his favorite professor who also favored him. A mother and a father who were proud of him. A four point oh GPA and his whole life ahead of him. Once upon a time this life was all he wanted; somewhere in his apartment, buried among things that no longer mattered to him, rested a diamond ring he had never given to Sarah. He didn’t even know where she was, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Only one thing mattered.

He had a new promise for an even better future. Oh, he knew he was in trouble, by mortal standards, but he also knew that his Lord Savitar was not a mortal and would protect him. For humanity would be judged and the acolytes alone among them would be safe from that judgement. When the detective arrived, Joshua was not afraid.

“I want to know about Alchemy,” said the detective. “Where he is. What he does.”

Joshua smiled. “His powers are beyond human understanding.”

“Try me.”

“Oh, you will be tried. All of you. When my master rises,” Joshua said with a grin, “the human race will be judged. From where I’m sitting, you will not fare very well.”

Then the detective grabbed his broken nose and pain blossomed across his face. The detective began shouting about his son, and Joshua became afraid, just a little.

The knock at the door saved him from betraying his god through his own feeble, mortal fear. Joshua was ready to thank the person who saved him from the detective, to throw himself at the feet of whoever it was who saved his poor nose from further abuse.

Except she was far, far worse.

He knew her from the moment she walked in, remembered her from the visions of the future shown to the acolytes. Killer Frost, beautiful and powerful in that future. Terrible and cold. This woman was not yet the Killer Frost of the visions but was no less terrible.

Joshua screamed when she burned him with her ice, screamed and screamed but though he screamed he no longer felt fear.

He felt terror.

* * *

 

**Chapter 3:Verse 5**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Somewhere under the cold and frost, Caitlin wondered what the hell she was doing. The other voice, the voice of the killer, told her she only did what was necessary. That voice didn’t care that her actions were an attempt to silence it forever. Probably because it knew just as well as she did that every step she took down this path led not to her freedom but to Frost.

What else could she do?

_God, you’re a walking self-fulfilling prophecy, Caitlin. You know that, right?_

She did. She knew. But she still couldn’t stop herself. The voice inside, the one that goaded her to use her powers more and more, to kill… if she did nothing then that voice would eventually drown out hers, and then she would be the Killer. Caitlin was still enough of herself in the moment to want to avoid that future. The only way she could see to do so was Alchemy.

The acolyte in the precinct’s interrogation room hadn’t been much help, but led to her acquisition of Julian Albert, a lucky coincidence. He had been far more helpful. Despite the animosity between Albert and Barry, Caitlin felt inclined to give him a pass, if only because of the effectiveness of his algorithm. Well, his insistence that Barry knock her out didn’t speak in his favor, but she couldn’t really blame him. He only knew that he’d been kidnapped and coerced into locating two people for a woman he saw as dangerous.

Barry wanted her to stop, to come home and let the team deal with her problems. But the team couldn’t, she knew that now. Not even Cisco could help her, no matter how much he wanted to, because he simply didn’t have the knowledge or the capability. Only Alchemy could help her. So she wounded her friend and went looking for the next acolyte.

He was… not helpful. More than that, his words frightened her beyond coping, frightened her right into the frigid arms of the one of whom she was most afraid. Later, she would barely remember fighting Barry, threatening him and the rest of her friends. Mostly, she remembered Barry’s challenge. _Go ahead and kill me._ She couldn’t, he knew she wouldn’t be able to, at least not yet. Thank whatever deities may or may not exist that she wasn’t that far gone. If she actually killed Barry, or hurt any of her friends, she would never forgive herself.

_Don’t have Cisco vibe you again. Don’t ask for trouble._

Was that cowardly advice she gave herself? A way to avoid responsibility for the things Killer Frost might do? A way to avoid leaving when she knew she should? Or… or maybe a way to avoid doing what she knows she _should_ do to protect those she loves?

Or is it the voice of Killer Frost, working in her subconscious to undermine her?

Sometimes she felt like she would completely lose her mind before this was all over.

* * *

 

**Chapter 3:Verse 6**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

H.R. was not an intelligent man. No, take that back. He was intelligent, he just wasn’t a scientist. If he had known they wanted a scientist when he received their little trans dimensional missive, he wouldn’t have responded. (He had known. He responded anyway. Anything to get off Earth-19 and out of the shadow of his own inferiority, even though a collector was surely on his tail.)

There are many different kinds of intelligences. Why couldn’t the rest of them see that artistic intelligence was not something to be ashamed of, and could be helpful in some situations? Thinking outside the box. For all their so-called “scientific” knowledge, not one of them knew how to think outside the box without his prodding!

Quite frankly, Team Flash would be lost without him. What did they do before him? How had they lasted this long with only their science and their previous Harrison Wellses? The Wellses with their science smarts and their quantum machine thingies. The decision to come to this Earth was without doubt the best decision of his entire life, and not just for himself. He was a gift.

Coffee wasn’t even the only thing to love about this Earth, though the coffee of this Earth was profoundly excellent. Truly a zen experience. His new friends were certainly worthy of his love, even if they didn’t yet see his worth. They would, in time. Meanwhile, he had plenty of opportunity to work on his next bestseller!

Well, he did between the various meta-human attacks, his plan for the grand reopening of S.T.A.R. Labs, and of course his enjoyment of all the new kinds of coffee CC Jitters could provide.

When the meteor falling in the middle of Central City turned out to be an alien spacecraft, and the whole thing turned out to be an invasion… H.R. hid. He hid until it was all over because he may not have been the most scientifically intelligent in the group, but he wasn’t stupid and he didn’t want to die. So he hid. He ran.

Later, that memory would come to haunt him when a frightening voice from the ether called him a coward.


	4. Chapter Four

**The Savitar Chronicles: The Book of Flash  
Chapter Four**

 

**Chapter 4:Verse 1**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Damn. Damn damn damn. Cisco put down the future-alien-tech-communicator thingy. Nate stared back at him. The historian was pretty cool for a historian and maybe could have filled the open spot in Cisco’s best friend list if they hadn’t… oh… just _doomed the whole world_. Funny how one can study science and engineering and still never quite understand the full consequences of time travel. Even Barry hadn’t—

_Barry._

“I just wanted to make things right,” he said aloud, not really knowing if he spoke to himself or to Nate. “And we ended up making them worse.”

He walked away to think about how close he and Nate came to screwing everything up for everyone. The Dominators were already here, sure, but were they as aggressive? Did the fact that he couldn’t remember mean that he had already been absorbed into this new timeline with new memories to match? Freaking time travel, man. None of it made any sense, even to his educated and intelligent mind. Maybe Harry could explain it, but Harry wasn’t here, was he? No, Harry was on Earth-2, leaving them stuck with H.R. Where was H.R., anyway?

Right as he decided to kick H.R. back home to Earth-19, Cisco heard Barry calling for everyone to gather in, which meant he’d come to a decision one what to do about the Dominators’ offer.

_Oh, this is not going to end well._

“This isn’t up for debate,” Barry told them, with that maddening expression on his face that dared anyone to try and speak against him. Even contrite, even knowing how much everyone was angry with him, Barry still thought of himself as the leader of this wayward group. He’d never say that, probably didn’t even realize he did it, but he stood and spoke now with the tone of a leader. A leader determined to do what he thought best for all of them. “It’s not even a close call. I mean… turn myself over to the Dominators, they leave the rest of the world alone. Simple.”

Felicity stepped forward. “No, it’s not simple.”

“Barry,” said John, probably the one of them with the most reason to be angry at Barry, other than Cisco, “it doesn’t matter what you’ve done. You can’t do this.”

“It’s been an honor to know all of you. To fight alongside of you. Now it’s up to you to keep our home safe.”

They couldn’t just let him walk away. Oliver was the first to speak up, but Cisco was the last. “We’re not letting you sacrifice yourself. There’s no way. I don’t care if that’s what it means to be a hero. You’re not a hero to me.” He hesitated, because he couldn’t help giving Barry one last jab before letting go of the weight he had carried in his heart for months. “You’re my friend.”

Barry’s expression lifted the weight finally and completely.

* * *

 

**Chapter 4:Verse 2**   
_Flashback, Central City 2021  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Cisco follows the clatter to his old lab, where he finds Barry rifling through all the discarded husks of outdated gadgets and spare parts as though his life depended on finding whatever he was looking for. For a moment, Cisco is befuddled by seeing Barry show more energy and life than he has in years, then he realizes it’s not Barry, it’s the… the other one. The time remnant one. Why hasn’t it died yet, or been taken by time wraiths, or… or just disappeared? And what is it doing?

“Hey. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The remnant stops and looks at him, wariness in its eyes. The expression there makes Cisco think of lab rats he’s seen, the helpless but defiant look of a creature in pain yet still fighting for life.

“I need something. A… a shield, or personal force field, or something.”

Despite himself, Cisco is intrigued. “Why?”

Slowly, the remnant turns to him, holding his hands resolutely at his sides, fingers curled into fists. “I can’t get into the military camp.”

“Uh, why would you want to?”

“So I can find out what they’re doing to the metas they capture.” It frowns at him. “Why _don’t_ you want to know? You’re a meta, they’re going to come for you eventually.”

Cisco shrugs. All of S.T.A.R. Labs will act as a barrier between the military troops and the two metas who basically live here now. They’ll get the remnant before they capture him or Barry. But it has no way of knowing that, and Cisco finds himself perfectly willing to stay silent on the subject. He can’t explain it, but he’s okay with the idea that the U.S. military might help with their time remnant problem, since the Speed Force seems to be staying out of it.

_Dios mio, Cisco. What’s wrong with you?_

“I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be he—

“I am, whether you like it or not.” It turns back to the rubble, picking through the pieces and setting them in piles Cisco recognizes as being parts that might be useful and others that would not. “They have some kind of detection device that knocks me on my ass every time I get close. I need either something to cloak me from their device, or to protect me from being knocked down.”

Watching it, Cisco feels a stir deep inside that he hasn’t felt in a while. He’s pretty much given up on the superhero thing; without his hands he’s useless, and Barry is so lost and apathetic, and Caitlin….

With a sigh he moves forward and starts picking out some parts from its… his… pile, some from the discard pile, and some the remnant hasn’t even touched yet. “Look, don’t say I never did anything for you, okay? But don’t tell Barry.” He glances at the remnant, who has an expression as though he’s going to protest that Barry is _his_ name, but in the end he refrains. Thank God for that. “And don’t tell anyone I made it for you, either. I shouldn’t. But I’m gonna.”

“Why?”

Cisco hesitates before answering. In the seconds between the question and his response, he thinks of Caitlin, who lost her battle with the cold. She tried so hard, but in the end Killer Frost took over anyway. Then Barry…. “Because… at least you’re still trying, I guess.”

* * *

 

**Chapter 4:Verse 3**   
_The Speed Force, All of Time  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

The machines beep. A heartbeat reduced to an electric signal, from a steady staccato to a single infinite tone and back. It never ends and all of it takes forever. Wally watches his mother die over and over. Watches her breathe only with the aid of the machines, watches her breathing fail anyway, watches the line on the machine cease to spike, and then it all starts again.

“How do I stop it?” he whispers in a room that eats noise as easily as it eats hope. “Mom, how do I make it stop?”

“You don’t, baby.” She looks up at him, eyes drained of life and hope, of will and health. This is not the woman who raised him and made him into the man he is, this is not the mother he remembers. This is a broken shell. “You didn’t. You never could. You can’t save me.” She smiles a sweet, beatific smile. “You’re not hero enough.”

He’s not hero enough. He always knew that, knew that he would never be the hero Barry is, he will never be the Flash. Kid Flash, at best. Always the younger, always the weaker. Always running behind; even if he is faster, somehow he is still always behind. Here it has brought him, standing still at the bedside he never wanted to see again, watching his mother lose the only battle that matters.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” The tears flow fast and silent. “Mom. Please.”

Only the sound of the machine answers. She is gone again. Should it still hurt this much? He has seen her die over and over again, shouldn’t he become accustomed to the pain invoked by that steady hum? His face is wet. Wally doesn’t bother to wipe away the tears. This death will always hurt and the tears will never end. What’s the point in erasing them? He bows his head as the beeping begins again, as her hand reaches for his, as he begs for her to tell him how to make it end and she tells him there is no end.

Wally knows he is in hell.

* * *

**Chapter 4:Verse 4**   
_The Speed Force, All of Time  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

The figure standing at the window is familiar, though Barry can’t quite place him. The man stands with his back to Barry. “Hello?”

Eddie Thawne turns to face him. “Hey, Bar.”

God, he should have known. The Speed Force did the same the last time, playing tricks with him and his memories, pulling faces from his brain and using them to speak with him. Is it because the Speed Force has no face of its own, or because it’s hiding? It refers to itself in the plural, saying “ _we_ won’t be as accommodating” and “ _we_ gave you back your speed.” Even now, Barry can’t quite turn off the scientist in him and he wonders if the Speed Force is some kind of overconsciousness, perhaps formed of the minds of all the speedsters before him. Hell, since time really has no meaning here, his own could be part of it, when on some hopefully far away day he stops running at last.

The Speed Force wants Wally to pay for his mistakes, but Barry will no longer allow this. No one else will suffer because of him.

“I’m not going anywhere until Wally’s free,” he says.

“Then be prepared to spend an eternity in here.”

Oh, it does love its tricks. Or they. First a Time Wraith, then showing him the baby Caitlin and Ronnie never had. They want to know why he’s here, what assurances he can offer that he is there for no other reason than to save Wally. He doesn’t lie—but eventually he is forced to tell the whole truth, that he intends to sacrifice himself to save Wally.

Snart is the worst. To see the face of a once enemy, knowing that Snart gave his life for others in some distant other place and time… to hear that Snart did this because Barry inspired him. The Speed Force must know how deeply this pains him. He wanted Snart to be better but never intended for that betterment to take Snart’s life. Just one more person his good intentions killed.

“I’m done fighting.”

“We know. And that’s exactly the problem.”

The split second before he hits the wall he thinks _God I wish Cisco never made that cold gun_ , but then everything is panic as he tries to think of a way to break free of the ice and what to do after that; his brain works fast, but not fast enough. Fortunately for him, it doesn’t matter. Snart is pushed away by a sudden force.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

Jay Garrick’s face is an unexpected but not at all an unpleasant sight.

* * *

**Chapter 4:Verse 5**   
_Egypt, First Dynasty  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Her name was Nakia, before it was Alchemy.

She is the high priestess of Savitar, whose worship her ancestors brought with them from Nābhivarṣa, which will one day be known as India. She was not the eldest of her father’s daughters, but she was chosen by Savitar to lead the faithful after her father died. Any who dissented at the idea of a female leading them were quickly dispatched by the God of Speed. 

Lord Savitar keeps strict control over his followers. 

They meet in secret as they have always done, to chant and meditate and open the box so they may hear the words of their god. They meet many times in a moon, at least twice in each part of the cycle, for their god has much to say to them and there is much for his followers to prepare.

On this night, Lord Savitar turns his brilliant eyes to Alchemy and places a hand on her head. His great metal skin is heavy on her, which is only appropriate for the burdens he places on his priestess.

“Alchemy, it is time.”

“Time for what, my lord?”

“Time for you to take a chosen few and lead them to yet more lands. Your father did well to come here. You will choose one to lead those left behind. Then you will travel, but you will leave the stone.”

“Yes, my lord.” She bows her head and does not question. If he tells her to leave the stone, she will leave the stone and carry him in her heart. With the strength of her conviction she will safeguard the worship of Savitar in her new land. Savitar lifts her chin up.

“You will be the last Alchemy for some time. Your task is now to spread my word across the world.” He releases her face and turns to the rest of the group to address the faithful. “Those who stay will be given one last task. When Alchemy and her company have gone, the chosen leader of those who remain may open the box one last time to receive your instructions.”

All bow before him and murmur their assent. Savitar is not to be questioned. They will do as he asks, always. They will follow his instructions without hesitation, and they will keep the fires of his worship alive in wait for him for a thousand thousand years if necessary. 

The last task of the congregation who stay is to bury the stone to wait for the next Alchemy to find it—and he does, millennia later, led by visions of his dead sister.

With him, the future is set. Savitar will be free, and terror and death will rule the land.

* * *

 

**Chapter 4:Verse 6**   
_The Speed Force, All of Time  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Jay takes a deep breath. All he brings into his lungs is the acrid odor of iron and rust. It makes him cough and roll onto his stomach. His hand hits the glass. He knows where he is, of course. He can never forget this place with its cramped space and terrible smells and the iron mask over his face. There is no way of knowing how long he’s been here, just as he has no idea how long he spent in this prison the first time. This is the personal hell he expected when he agreed to take Wally’s place.

Automatically his fingers tap on the glass, the old familiar rhythm. It isn’t for himself, at least not entirely. It calms him to fall into this routine, certainly, but when the pattern comes to a close the resulting silence is also informative. If there is anyone in the other cages, they are too heartsore or broken to respond. He is alone in every way that matters.

“Jay.”

The voice lashes out from the darkness, known and hated. Jay flinches because he can’t help himself and his captor laughs.

“Oh, Jay. Jay, Jay, Jay. Back in my private menagerie. Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Jay shakes his head. He refuses to respond. That’s what the voice wants, it wants him to respond because it wants to taste his pain then devour it whole. He will not give it the satisfaction.

“Jay Garrick, the Elder Flash. Or should I say, the Elderly Flash. You’re slowing down, old man.” Jay can’t see very well through his mask, but enough to see the shadow that falls on him as his captor approaches. “No wonder you’re here. You’re expendable.”

“No,” Jay croaks out. Shuddering, he draws his legs up and turns his face away from the shadow. He didn’t intend to answer, but the word fell out before he could stop it. Not that he can be understood; the mask makes certain no one can understand him. Except, his captor seems to understand anyway and laughs again in his cruelty. That laughter weighs down Jay’s heart and makes him forget he is in a hell of his own making.

“Yes, you’re expendable. Old. Slow. If you hadn’t volunteered to stay, they would have made you stay to get rid of you.” The captor smiles. Jay can’t see it, but he knows. He can feel that smile, the one that says his jailor is enjoying his pain, the one he saw again and again the first time. “You’re useless.”

_Useless_.

He knows this isn’t real, he knows he did this to himself, that Barry would never have asked it of him—

_But he didn’t fight it very hard, did he?_

Jay shakes his head; his hands come up to cover his ears and meet cold metal. He can’t cover his ears because they’re already covered, but his captor’s words still echo through his eardrums.

_Useless. Expendable. Slow._

_Useless. Expendable. Slow._

Beneath the iron his mouth opens in a soundless scream.


	5. Chapter Five

**The Savitar Chronicles: The Book of Flash**

**Chapter Five**

 

**Chapter 5:Verse 1**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

And true love’s kiss saved the day.

Barry never expected to live a fairy tale, but as he watched the creature known as Music Meister fade from existence, he couldn’t help but smile even as he shook his head. As Cisco and Wally explained what happened while he and Kara were in comas, it became clear that Music Meister had actually had zero interest in the Central City Bank, or in anything other than his own personal soap opera as it played out in Barry and Kara’s heads. They would probably never really know what he was or his true agenda; hopefully they wouldn’t, because that meant he would never be back.

He just hoped musicals really had the power to heal. Too much in his life needed healing.

As the gathered collection of people from two worlds caught up with each other, Kara broke away and motioned for Barry to follow her into the hallway. He did and noticed the serious expression on her face. She crossed her arms.

“I wanted to talk to you alone before we go back.”

“Yeah, okay.” Barry put his hands on his hips, open, waiting.

“I’ve been trying to contact you with Cisco’s device he gave me, and I haven’t been able to get through. I thought it wasn’t working at first, but Winn took a look and assured me it was fine.”

Barry thought he knew what would Cisco would say about anyone else taking apart his inventions and judging them, but he didn’t say anything. “I could have Cisco take a look.”

Kara’s lips pressed together with worry. “No. I get the feeling everything Cisco does works just fine.”

“Usually. Not always. Sometimes he needs a test to get it right.”

“Something’s not right, Barry. I don’t know if Cisco would notice it, because he comes from your world. And Music Meister, well.” She gave a little huff of annoyance and made a gesture in the general direction of where he vanished. “He seems to be able to do whatever he wants.”

“But Mon-El and J’onn were able to use the device to bring you here.”

“I know, so obviously it works. So why wouldn’t it work for me? I’m telling you, something’s wrong. Something about your world, specifically. Maybe the only reason I noticed is because I’m not a breacher or whatever it is Music Meister is—maybe whatever it is only affects the device. But something’s wrong.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Cisco about it. See what we can find out.”

She smiled and put a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

He never would, though. Kara went home and Barry’s first thought was Iris. _I’ll talk to Cisco in the morning_ , was his second. In the morning, there was a new threat, a new puzzle. And the day after that, and the day after that, and then the Savitar problem became all consuming, until Kara’s worry slipped completely from his mind. After all, right now it didn’t matter much if Kara couldn’t hop universes on her own. He had other problems to worry about.

* * *

 

**Chapter 5:Verse 2**   
_Indus Valley, 2013  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

Millennia ago, the last Alchemy relinquished her control over the box that summoned Savitar, God of Speed, and spread his cult across the world. In Egypt, the group left behind opened the box entrusted to them to receive Savitar’s last instructions—those instructions took them back to the place where Savitar claimed to originate, to bury the box and keep their rituals until such time as a new Alchemy would return and claim their birthright.

Time is an imaginary human construct. It exists only in change. People migrate. They settle, they mingle with the people they meet. They have children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Over time their descendants may look very like them or nothing at all like them.

Far down the line, the last descendant of Alchemy returns to the place his ancestors left in search of a release of pain. Like so many, he knows nothing of his true heritage, supposing his family has always lived on the British Isle. No one ever remembers that no matter where we live now, no matter where our immediate family resides, if one travels far enough down the paths of lineage we all come from a fertile little valley in Africa. Humanity spiraled outward from there, to Egypt, and to this valley east of the first. Time is not the only imaginary construct humans have created.

See him settle in with his team and begin the long and arduous work of digging and paperwork to accompany it. Archaeologists have come a long way from Indiana Jones, or like to think they have. Every find must be carefully logged and filed and reported.

He may be descended from the last Alchemy, but he is a long way from that root and his culture is not known for being kind to others.

In the end, is he any different? Does his unknown blood relation to the title of Alchemy override the history of colonization that is also his by blood and birth? When he wakes in his hotel room later, newly amnesiac and in possession of an ancient artifact, does the fact that it is his by blood release him from the burden of being a cultural thief?

It is not for us to say, but the modern people of the Indus Valley.

The theft is done, and from it arises a new Alchemy who reaches across the world to pull on the strings so carefully woven through the ages. Those strings lead him to where he needs to be—Central City.

Julian Albert is ready to walk into his destiny. He will never truly understand how he has done so on the backs of others.

* * *

 

**Chapter 5:Verse 3**   
_Central City, 2021  
Post-Flashpoint Timeline_

“You can’t save her.”

His past self is insistent. “Yes I can. And I’m going to.”

He is so tired. Hope is exhausting and he long ago ran out of energy for it. He is no longer capable of the optimistic expectation that everything will be all right in the end. He is the end. This is the end and nothing is all right.

“No you can’t, go home.”

“Just tell me who’s in the suit.”

Barry stops. His hesitation spurs his past self on.

“All right? That’s all I need. You tell me that, we’ll be able to track him down. We’ll learn his weakness. We’ll stop him before he even tries.” The need, the desperation in his voice reaches deep inside Barry to the place that just barely remembers being that hopeful. “Just tell me who Savitar is.”

For a moment, a single shining moment he considers telling the truth. What would it change, really? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So he doesn’t.

“I can’t.” Why does he lie? Because it doesn’t matter. Speaking the words won’t change anything. Because he knows, but wishes he didn’t.

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t know the answer.” Lies, lies, lies. His past self is so convinced that the answer to his question will solve everything, but it will only make things worse. He knows. He remembers. On some better days he doesn’t, but those days are few and far between now. “Sorry you ran all this way for nothing. You want some advice, go home. Spend as much time with Iris as you can because pretty soon… you’ll never see her again.”

In the end, he gives his past self all the information except what he really needs. It doesn’t matter. He’ll find out on his own. He always does. Then Iris will die. She always does.

After his past self is gone, Barry looks down at a nearby table and places his fingers over the little metal device he took from Kara so long ago. Kara, who wanted to help and couldn’t, whose device never did work for her. She could only ever visit or communicate with the help of a breacher. Cisco finally explained it as the result of the time loop they’re stuck in, where Savitar is born and Iris dies over and over into infinity. The breachers can make breaches in and out because there is something inside them connected to their powers that automatically allows them to find where they want to go and punch through the barrier.

Kara’s artificial device could not do the same. It could get out, but not in.

It never mattered, anyway. There was never anything Kara could do or say to make it right, no matter how hard she tried. Iris was always still dead. Is always dead. Will always be dead. There had been too many times when he had hope only to have it dashed. Perhaps the idea that they are stuck in an infinite causal time loop should make him feel better. He should probably be filled with hope that this time his younger self will manage to do something to stop it. He should probably have told his younger self everything. There was a time when he would have, just after the imprisonment of Savitar. Before he really understood the enormity of the endless road of his life without Iris.

Chasing Savitar had been all that kept him going for so long. Now there is nothing but her empty side of the bed and the silence of their shared home. Sleeping at S.T.A.R. Labs is better. Crouching in a corner of the time vault is better than her absence.

Back in said time vault and his corner, Barry sits with his arms around his knees and his head in his arms. This is where he has spent his life after the imprisoning of Savitar, simmering in his own misery and it is where he will stay.

* * *

 

**Chapter 5:Verse 4**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

_Killer Frost stares at the man who stepped free of Savitar’s armor and her understanding of the world turns on its head. Barry’s face meets her, halved by burn scars and turned slightly so his good eye has her clearly in its view. Later, her friends will posit that she followed him because she saw in him a face she trusted, but that is not why. The truth is they will never understand why. They think they will and that certainty will be their undoing._

Working with Savitar was not what she expected. They existed in a strange space between friendship and something else that was not quite leader and subordinate, not quite teacher and student, and not quite god and follower. Savitar was not yet a god, no matter what he said, and Killer Frost was not his acolyte or his priestess.

_“You were my savior,” he says to her. “When no one else accepted me, you welcomed me. You were the first to tell me who I am.”_

Not his minion, not his superior, but not his equal. What kept her by his side? No misguided loyalty, this, just the promise he offered. Godhood, not only for himself, but for her and through that godhood control over her mind. The last little bit of Caitlin trying to claw through would finally be gone and there would be only Killer Frost. All hesitation, fear, and doubt would be gone. She could finally live free and unfettered by Caitlin’s boring, staid morality. Which is what Caitlin wanted, though she would never admit to wanting to be a little _bad_.

_“To be free of her for good, you must become Killer Frost in truth,” Savitar tells her. “You must take a life. Only then will Caitlin be gone and you can be ready to ascend with me.”_

Killer Frost intended to take a life. Savitar would have it be Cisco’s because of his friendship with Caitlin. A true sacrifice and symbol of the death of her other self, the Speed God called it. She would kill Cisco, of course she would, because Caitlin’s friends and needs had no importance to her. Except it was so much more difficult to kill him when he normally stayed at S.T.A.R. Labs and also had metahuman abilities.

Killing the girl, the future doctor who will imprison Savitar with her theories would be better. A much easier target for her first kill. Killer Frost was only too happy to take on that assignment.

Of course, Barry, Cisco, and that intolerable H.R. had to ruin it.

Yet, it did not phase Savitar. None of her failures did, as though none of the missions he sent her on really mattered. As though his real purpose for recruiting her to his side had nothing to do with Tracy Brand, or killing Cisco, or her freedom from the innocent Caitlin.

Later, when Cisco tells her that Savitar will turn on her, though she denies believing him, she thinks back on all the failures he should have reprimanded her for and remembers.

It is then she realizes she will never be free of Caitlin.

* * *

 

**Chapter 5:Verse 5**

_Central City, 2017_

_Post Flashpoint Timeline_

“I know who you are.”

Ah, those words were sweet. Sweeter than any Savitar had ever heard, sweeter than he ever imagined. Did the Savitar before him, who stood in this place while he stood in the other feel the same way? Yes, he decided. He had to, because this was all written. It had all happened before and would continue to happen forever and ever, amen.

Beneath his armor, he smiled at his past self. “It’s about time.”

When Barry named him, he opened his armor and stepped forth, naming himself. The future Flash. The future of the Flash, the only viable path forward. He was the beginning, the end, and the center. The only truth. No matter what else was said, he remembered that.

“But us having this conversation now, we’re changing the future.”

“Are we?” Cute, how is past self believed in the honesty of his future self. This naive puppet in front of Savitar still had no idea that his future self lied to him. Even after the proof of it became evident in Savitar’s existence. And oh did he love the confused, helpless expression on the idiot’s face.

He let his anger get the better of him for a moment and was not surprised when Barry’s answer came in the form of an attack. Nothing Barry did could surprise him. In his mind, he played out a script he remembered from long ago.

What would happen if he allowed Barry to kill him right then and there? Even the Barry of the future, the original who created the time remnants, would never kill Savitar; therein lay the difference between them at last, the truth all of Barry’s loved ones knew without needing to be told and that Savitar only realized after being broken.

The _real_ Barry would never purposefully take a life.

Savitar had killed so many.

Yet here was Barry with his arm around Savitar’s neck, threatening his life to save Iris’. Would Barry really kill him in that moment? Could he? Was he capable? Alas, as much as Savitar would like to know the answer, it was not to be. He activated the neural link to his suit and laughed silently as he thought of what Felicity would say if she knew how he used her creation.

The two speedsters blasted each other with lightning, with only Savitar knowing it would make no difference. He left Barry on the asphalt and ran into his future.

* * *

 

**Chapter 5:Verse 6**   
_Flashback: Central City, 2021  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

Barry arrives to alarms in the cortex and Cisco rushing from screen to screen trying to pinpoint the problem. Watching, Barry feels a hollow place in his chest when he realizes what’s happening. He will have to tell Cisco. Of course he will. He will have to tell Cisco what he’s done.

What did he do?

Looking down at his hands, he thinks, _You’ve saved the meta-humans of Central City, that’s what you’ve done. Without Cisco’s help. Without_ his _help._

Cisco usually isn’t one for cursing—at least not in English, it’s usually in Spanish or Klingon—but he does now as he finally zeroes in on the battleground for tonight’s catastrophe.

“It’s the military base,” he says, obviously not knowing who he’s talking to, “the goddamn military base. I can’t believe it but I guess we have to save the army, Barry.”

“No.”

Cisco jumps and turns. Sees him. Really looks at him. Deflates. “Oh. It’s you. I thought—”

“Don’t know why. Do you really think he’s going to respond to the sound of alarms after all this time?”

“One can hope.” Cisco squints at the screen as though it will make what he’s seeing magically change into something else. “Hold on. Reports from the meta-human app all say it was a streak of lightning that entered the base. Just like the Flash.”

“You never call me by my name.” Barry ignores Cisco’s talk about the base. It’s not important. Not anymore. He’s taken care of that problem. There’s a problem here that still needs to be addressed. Barry feels odd. Distant from himself. His hands have no blood on them but he can feel it anyway. Can still feel the crack of every single neck he broke. He should feel guilty. Maybe he does, on some level, but if he does it’s far away.

Cisco sighs. “I think we have bigger problems right now than coming up with a name for you.”

“I have a name, Cisco.” His hands clench into fists. God, but he feels the overwhelming urge right now to just take Cisco by the head and—

No. No, not Cisco. Never Cisco. What’s he thinking? How can he be thinking this? He wouldn’t have to if Cisco would just look him in the eye, give him the time of day, _call him by his name_. It’s not his fault he’s so angry. Barry closes his eyes and steps back, away from his friend. When he opens his eyes again it’s to see Cisco staring at him.

“What did you do?”

“It’s not about what I did,” he says. His voice sounds strange, like it comes from outside himself. “It’s about what they were doing. Which I tried to tell you. But you wouldn’t listen.” Electricity begins to crackle all around him even though he isn’t moving. So much potential in every single cell in his body, so much power. He thinks about Thawne, about Zoom, about Savitar. They were once closed books to him, indecipherable, but he’s beginning to understand them, at least a little. “You never listen to me anymore. Would it kill you to listen to me for five seconds?”

Cisco looks for a moment like he’s going to speak, then his lips press tightly together.

“You can’t do it, can you? You can’t call me Barry. Hell, I might have been willing at one time to go by Bart, or Henry. It might have been a nice tribute to my dad, to start using my middle name.”

“What did you _do_?”

“What I had to.”

“Then you’ve just proven that you aren’t me.” The other one strides up from whatever hole he’s buried himself in so he can judge Barry just like everyone else. “If you killed those men, then you’re not me. You never were. You’re just a damaged time remnant who didn’t even have to grace to die well.”

Barry meets his other self in the middle and shoves him hard. This has been coming for a long time, they’ve both known it; neither of them can stand the other though their reasons are different. The other shoves him back. For a moment they’re like children in a school yard, staring each other down and circling, shoving, testing each other’s strength and resolve. From the corner of his eye Barry sees Cisco flee the room; Cisco has known them far too long to ever want to be caught in an enclosed space when two speedsters fight and despite everything still has a sense of self-preservation.

In objective time, the fight does not last long. A matter of moments, perhaps, as long as a full fifteen seconds at most. In relative time, however, the two chase and claw and punch for minutes. The world stands still as the internal battle of the Flash is acted out externally. Neither of them really understands what’s happening, though the time remnant who has never been able to stop thinking of himself as Barry Allen is closer than his originator.

Of all the superheroes in this world, only a speedster is capable of turning his self-loathing into an outward battle, or taking his rage out on himself so brutally.

It ends in lightning like fire when the original Flash gains enough speed to fling electricity at his time remnant and no longer cares where it lands or how badly his counterpart is hurt.

Barry screams and hits the wall, he screams as the skin on the right half of his face sears and burns. He screams as his right eye nearly bursts in its socket; it will eventually turn white with scarring. None of that matters right now, in the moment all he knows is fire and pain.

“You should have died,” he heard. The other stands over him. “You should have died that day. It should have been you.”

Barry groans and tries to push himself up. His legs fail. His entire body shakes from the trauma of what’s happened to him. As he gasps for breath and tries to keep his good eye on his enemy, he can feel the spittle flying from his mouth as he sputters and pants in pain, can feel it running down his chin. Some hero. Broken, he’s broken, only now he finally realizes it. He’s just as broken as the man standing in front of him.

“I didn’t,” he manages to force out. “I didn’t die, but you’re going to wish I had.” He looks at Cisco, standing hesitantly in the doorway. “Both of you. All of you. You’re all going wish even more than you already do that I’d died that day.”

He flees, relishing the pain as the wind aggravated his burns. His pain is all he has left.


	6. Chapter Six

**The Savitar Chronicles: The Book of Flash**

**Chapter Six**

 

**Chapter 6:Verse 1**   
_Flashback: Central City, 2021  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

The final piece falls into place as Barry watches his time remnant’s face burn.

_It was me. I created Savitar._

Strange, how he can see every blister as it forms. Time slows, allowing him to watch inch by inch as its face— _his_ face, his own face—begins to redden, to flare, peel away from the muscle beneath. He can smell it, too, burned flesh. He always thought burning human flesh would smell terrible but now he realizes it smells not much different from charred steak.

_I did it._

He has known Savitar was himself since before Iris died, but he never wondered how he was made. He listened to Savitar’s sad, sad story and promptly forgot it. Now, he looks into the one good eye of the time remnant that has been trying so, so hard to keep Central City together and sees the death of goodness. This is the moment that births Savitar, this very moment right here. He has killed what remained of himself in his time remnant and played midwife to the being that will destroy him.

_I created Savitar._

* * *

 

**Chapter 6:Verse 2**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

There was so much to do and so little time remaining. The clock ticked down the seconds, minutes, hours until Infantino Street and the death of Iris West. After that, his inevitable ascension to godhood. This was his destiny, his reason for being.

So he had no time for the ragtag group of sycophants standing at the door to his lair.

“Lord Savitar, I knew you would be here.”

One of them stepped forward and the rest followed, all falling to their knees. Savitar sneered. He could not tell them apart from one another, that was how little he cared for them. They groveled at his feet; once this devotion was a beacon in the darkness of his prison, what kept him afloat in the sea of insanity. Now, it is of little consequence. He is on the verge of ascension—these peons are nothing compared to that.

“Lord Savitar,” said the same one who spoke before, “we are here. Use us. Use us, as you used Alchemy!”

Savitar peered at them through the mask of his armor, then turned away. He gestured to Killer Frost. “Take care of them. I have no time for them.”

He did not stop to listen to their cries for mercy or their confusion. He did not stop to wonder how Killer Frost would interpret his order.

Savitar had more important matters on his mind.

* * *

 

**Chapter 6:Verse 3**   
_Siberia, 1892  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

Funny how all the do-gooders came to him when they needed help with something their strict moral codes wouldn’t allow them to do on their own. It’s almost as though their high-handed ethics got in the way when the situation called for doing bad to do good. Leonard loved hearing the words _I need your help, Snart_ spill reluctantly from the mouths of heroes.

Especially this hero.

“Piece of advice,” he told the hero after their little adventure, “stop trying to beat Savitar at his own game. Your goodness is your strength.” Words he never thought he’d say to anyone, but there they were. If anyone asked him later he’d deny ever saying them. Or knowing Allen.

But he did know Allen, didn’t he? A little too well. As he said, the two of them were like mirror images, each with a history that would seem tailor made to turn them bad; Leonard had taken that path because he was always prone to taking the path of least resistance and because his father had shared his skills. Allen… Allen was his reflection. The other side of the looking glass, where pain and loss did not automatically equal corruption. Leonard didn’t know what made them different, only that they were.

And as much as he protested otherwise on several occasions, he never wanted to see Allen become like him. Not really.

“Call me sentimental. I think the Flash should remain a hero.”

Allen smiled at him in a way that made him wonder what the speedster knew. Did any of Allen’s other friends and acquaintances ever wonder? When someone you know can travel in time, wondering what they know that you don’t should be on everyone’s mind. Or maybe he’s just paranoid. Could anyone blame him if he was?

“Take care of yourself, Snart.”

“No strings on me.”

As he turned away from the gust of air and lightning that marked Allen’s return to his time, Leonard felt a sudden shudder of premonition from somewhere deep inside. Nothing so clear as a vision. Merely a knowing.

“No strings on me,” he muttered again, under his breath. It felt appropriate.

* * *

 

**Chapter 6:Verse 4**   
_Flashback: Central City, 2021  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

“I want to speak to her.”

Julian turns; usually, he’s the only one who can tell from a glance with which Barry he’s speaking. Julian once said the time remnant still had hope in his eyes while the other Barry had only emptiness. Of all of them, it’s ironically Julian who treats him most like a person, which only means he treats him terribly because Julian has never really liked people to begin with and his experiences with Team Flash have only exacerbated his misanthropy.

Now, Julian drops his hands to his side and steps forward, confused and worried. “I don’t know if you should be talking to her right now, mate. Your face is a right mess and doesn’t look like it’s healing.”

“ _Let me talk to her!_ ”

Julian stumbles back. The look on his face is indecipherable. Like he’s seen the malevolent spirit of his worst enemy. Maybe he has. Barry clenches his fists as though by doing so he may squeeze and crush the burgeoning knowledge in his brain.

“Yeah, mate,” Julian stutters. “I’ll just give the two of you a minute, shall I?”

He practically flees, leaving Barry alone with the woman behind the glass. Once, she’d been one of his best friends. Then, she’d been a traitor who took Cisco’s hands and helped Savitar kill Iris. Then she became a prisoner. She looks at him now through the glass and raises both hands to press against it. Ice white eyes that should be brown peer at him. She gasps.

“It’s you. Finally.”

“No.” The word is more than just a word, it’s a protest from the deepest reaches of his soul. Words cannot express how much he does not want to hear what she has to say, yet how much he needs to hear it.

Killer Frost smiles at him.

“Oh yes. You know the truth, or you wouldn’t have come here. To me. You want me to tell you, but I don’t have to.”

Barry puts his hands on the glass above her head. “I’m not. I’m not him. I’ll never be him.”

“Which ‘him’ are you talking about, hmm?” Her eyes glitter. There’s something unsettling about them, not just their color but the way they seem to spear right through all his masks and self-deception. She knows him better than he knows himself, that’s why he came, isn’t it? Because Killer Frost knows the truth. “Which speedster is it you’ll never be?”

“Who is he?” he gasps. Then, he screams. “ _Who is he_? Who is Savitar under the armor?”

She leans in closer, so close that if her breath were warm it would fog the glass. She breathes frost instead. Over the new film of iced glass, her eyes catch his and she smiles a cold, blue smile.

“He’s you.”

The universe opens up before him. An entire infinity of possibilities if he can only accept the truth. If he is Savitar, if he is the evil they’ve been chasing, the monster who killed Iris, it means he really is not Barry Allen. Not the one that matters. He never was. It means he was only ever created and spared for one reason. The universe is laughing at him. Killer Frost laughs at him. He closes his eyes and can see his own face looking back at him framed with too-long hair and wearing that smirk. Laughing at him.

A wall falls in his mind and he remembers. Remembers that he’s known this all along. He knew before Iris died. Savitar stepping from his armor, his face a mirrored mockery of Barry’s with its burns and cruel smile. He’s known, he’s always known, but from the moment he realized he was the time remnant who lived, he’s been repressing the information, had it stored out of the way where it could do no damage. Until now.

He tried so hard to be good.

He sees his own face contorted in fury and contempt, the lightning flash right before it seared his face and eye. Did the person behind that rage understand, did he know what he was doing when he hurled that lightning ?

Did he know what he was making?

Barry opens his eyes and looks through the glass into the white ice of Killer Frost’s.

“Run, Barry,” she whispers. “Run.”

He runs.

* * *

 

**Chapter 6:Verse 5**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

_Come home,_ Barry said, as though it were really that easy.

But oh, it was tempting. So tempting. Iris… the feel of her hand on his cheek, even through the scar tissue, was sublime. A feeling he never thought he would feel again. She told him to look at her and only then did he realize how difficult it was to do, to look into the eyes of the woman he loved and tried to murder. Yet, in those eyes radiated compassion, kindness, even understanding. There was no anger or hatred. She meant what she said.

“Thank you,” he whispered before he could think.

Tracy’s anger reminded him of the truth. There could be no home for him, not anymore. Especially not here where he did not fit. The look on Barry’s face when he asked about his place in their life almost made him laugh. Typical Barry. Typical _fucking Barry._ Leaping in without a plan with the assumption everything will go his way with no goddamn clue how to actually make it happen. With no concept of what his proposal meant, how Savitar’s life would be a living hell if he accepted.

Again, Iris almost made him falter. “I will be here for you,” she said.

The depth of her ability to forgive would have hollowed him out if he were not already empty. “I tried to kill you. I killed H.R.”

“And you are going to have to live with that.” Blunt, honest, to the point. He remembered why he loved her. “But we won’t give up on you, okay? That is not what we do. There is a way through this for all of us.”

He wanted to believe her. Inside, in a place he thought long dead, something shuddered and woke. A small blossom of… hope? Was that hope? He couldn’t remember the feeling, but for just a moment he could imagine it, living here with them and being part of the team again. Being Henry Allen, perhaps, a long-lost twin. They might make up some ridiculous soap-opera story about a nurse in the hospital stealing him away and telling their parents that the other twin died. It could work.

Then he saw how it could falter; the anger, the rivalry. Iris would be there and she would not be his, she would be Barry’s. Barry’s life would be Barry’s. It wasn’t his life and never would be again.

All the same as before, only worse. Because this time they would be _happy._ Without him.

And then, he saw the lie buried so deep in Iris’ eyes she was not even aware of it. The small flame inside him sputtered. He knew the truth. Had always known the truth. He knew it from the moment he returned to S.T.A.R. Labs, beaten and broken and the lesser of the two Barrys. So long as there were two, he would always be the lesser. His life would never be his.

No. Never.

As he raced away and heard the explosion, part of him hoped Iris had died after all. It wouldn’t save him, but it would answer the lie she didn’t even know she told.

* * *

 

**Chapter 6:Verse 6**   
_Central City, 2000  
Timeline Nexus_

Nora Eileen Thompson Allen dies in this moment over and over again. Her death becomes a fixed point with every repetition. Every time she dies instead of lives her death is imprinted even deeper in the fabric of reality. Deaths outweigh those times she is saved, even though there are more versions of her son existing in this house at this time than ever again in the future. Once, she was comforted by him as she died, but that moment was overwritten by a later failed attempt at salvation.

The room fairly vibrates with time energy and the presence of the Speed Force. Perhaps this is why a portion of Nora—a buried portion, buried beneath the pain and the awareness of the encroaching dark—is aware of the shadows of previous deaths that lay over her like a sheet. Perhaps it’s why she is vaguely aware of an entire life beyond this, where she saw her son as he grew up, where she and her husband lived the perfect life, filled with love and pride for their beautiful boy. The part of her that can see this alternate life wishes for it with the same burning intensity with which she was killed. She doesn’t understand why the man who killed her would want to hurt her.

In the back of her mind, she hears the words: _You’re not going to kill her this time. You’re not going to kill her ever again._

It hurts, but the pain is fading. Somewhere, her son lives and that is all that matters. She remembers telling Barry to run, then he was gone. So he has to be alive. As long as Barry is alive, she can die in peace.

She cannot know, of course, that this moment is the pivot on which her son’s life will spin. He will not be able to move forward or heal for a long time; he will live much of his life standing in the doorway watching the lightning storm, kneeling next to her body and trying to find some trace of his mother in her blank features. His pain holds her suspended in time at the moment of her death.

Nora is paused in this moment, forever dying, forever on the verge of the great abyss but never quite falling. Before this, she was a proud mother, after this she will be a treasured memory. For her, the after never comes.

For her, there is only ever the darkness, the pain, and the knife.

Out of the corner of her eye a bright light grows to overcome her field of vision. It chases back the darkness. Nora feels her body fill with the light and raises a hand, to find it taken by another. In the space between one breath and eternity, she is on her feet and smiling into the face of her husband. “Henry.”

“Hello, Nora. You needed some help.”

“What took you so long?”

“I couldn’t until Barry did the right thing.”

“Barry?” She turns, looking behind her where her son stood. She sees only the vacant room, populated by her own corpse. “Where is he? Is he all right?”

“He’ll be fine. I came because he was finally able to let you go. He still has some battles to fight, but he’ll fight them running on his own two feet.”

She turns back to him, but he’s different. Older. Not the husband she knew, but one aged by time and grief. “You’re not Henry. Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” That voice comes from behind her, from a young man she recognizes yet doesn’t. She can’t place his name, but he looks so familiar. Tall, gangly, with a goofy smile that reminds her so much of her father. The young man steps forward and takes her other hand. “We’re here to take you home.”

* * *

 

**Chapter 6:Verse 7**   
_Central City, 2017  
Post Flashpoint Timeline_

Barry, wrapped in the armor of Savitar, stands over his future self, ready and willing to kill him to save everyone he loves. He feels the rage flow through him, fury directed to anyone who would dare threaten his friends and family. He feels the agony of his mother’s death, his father’s murder. His heart screams with the memory of watching Iris stabbed through the heart even though it didn’t really happen—no it wasn’t Iris, but H.R. His friend is dead to save his love and it isn’t right.

_Kill him, so it can all end._

“Do it!” Savitar screams at him. His eyes are not sane. “You kill me, you become me. Either way, I live!”

_No._

It’s only one word, but it resonates through him. He remembers now the last words Snart spoke to him: _Call me sentimental, I believe the Flash should stay a hero._

What kind of hero kills when he doesn’t have to, or kills out of anger? Oliver did, once. Oliver still kills, but only when necessary. Only when there is no other choice. Is there truly no other choice now? And is that the kind of hero Barry wants the Flash to be?

_No._

Barry vibrates the armor until it shatters. Without it, Savitar is limited to speeds the human body can handle without aid. Effectively, he has killed Savitar, because now all that’s left is the time remnant, looking for all the world as bereft as if Barry _has_ killed someone he loved. Barry pities him, though he knows it won’t be welcomed.

“I’ll never let the pain, the darkness, determine who I am,” he tells his other self. “I will never be you.”

A punch to the face should be enough to incapacitate Savitar, but this version of himself is older and more experienced, and has been exposed to the eternity of the Speed Force. Barry is not surprised to hear shouts of warning as he tries to walk away.

He _is_ surprised to hear the gunshot.

Barry whirls.

So does Savitar.

Behind them both stands Iris. In her hands, a gun. Her hands are held by her father’s, who directed her arms upward and away from Savitar; if not for Joe, Iris would have shot Savitar in the back and killed him.

“No baby.” Joe shakes his head. “Don’t let him make you a killer.”

Iris nods. Her eyes meet Barry’s. Even over the distance they know what the other is thinking. She would have taken a life to save him, but like her dad, he does not want her to become a killer. The Flash family always finds another way. Even for rogues like Savitar— _especially_ for rogues like Savitar, broken and in pain and in need. Killing him would have been the wrong choice.

“He’s gone.”

It’s Cisco. Barry blinks and looks to where Savitar had been to see he is indeed gone. Vanished. He lets out a breath.

“It’s over.” Even as he says the words he can’t quite believe them to be true. “Savitar is gone.”

“He’s not the only one. So’s Caitlin.” Cisco gestures to his side where Caitlin had stood. “She saved me from him. She made a choice.”

Barry turns back to Iris, who walks into his arms. “We all made choices. And we’ll all keep making choices, later. Right now, let’s just go home.”

They go home, all of them, putting off difficult decisions for later. Decisions like what to do about H.R.’s body, which lays in state in S.T.A.R. Labs’ morgue. What to do about the empty Speed Force prison—which honestly slips from all of their minds for the moment—and how to deal with the absent Caitlin. How do they deal with the many emotions this ordeal has brought up, or the implications for their future?

In some future, Barry’s family and Barry himself helped create a villain with neglect and trauma. That future is averted now, but the behaviors are still part of their make-up.

It doesn’t matter. Not right now. That is for tomorrow.

Now is for rest.

**End The Book of Flash.**

 

**Next Week:** ___Tempus Absolutum Secundi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your patience in the wait for this Book. I hope it was worth it. Unfortunately, you'll probably have another long wait ahead of you for the Book of Legends; Fall semester has started, and not only do I have three graduate classes but an assistantship as well. I may be able to write some over the holiday break, but I make no promises. 
> 
> If you're interested in reading about my progress and potentially about my life, go here: https://noxcaelum.dreamwidth.org/ I'll keep it updated as much as I can.


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